


One Minute in Hell is Worth Seven in Heaven

by slasher48



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Season/Series 05, Autistic Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Demisexual Castiel, Demon Dean Winchester, Greyromantic Demisexual Castiel, M/M, Making Out, Self-Doubt, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher48/pseuds/slasher48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a demon, raised from perdition, and though Jimmy's gone now, Castiel's still an <i>angel</i>, and making out is...complicated.</p><p>(For once, the archangels and their Apocalypse have nothing to do with why.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Minute in Hell is Worth Seven in Heaven

Dean fears what he might taste when he kisses him.

It’s something Castiel has known for a while, something that makes Dean close his mouth when his lips touch Castiel’s, something that makes him leave open, sucking marks that swell his vessel’s flesh everywhere but there.

He can’t protest this, even though he loathes the shamed face Dean shows, when Castiel pokes his tongue against them and he immediately backs off. He can’t be sure he would be comfortable inhaling the smoke—cannot even be sure he would not hurt Dean mixing with him in this way.

But he wants to wipe that face out of Dean’s repertoire. It is the first time that he can remember feeling a demon should not be hated for its nature, but this feeling persists nonetheless.

“Come here,” he whispers, when Dean and Sam return from another hunt, loudly quarreling as usual about the things both and neither will do for the job. Demonic abilities are useful; potential unplanned exorcisms are not. And the Winchesters are by nature too reckless sometimes.

Sam glances at Castiel and then watches Dean’s face, sees it change as does Castiel simultaneously. His eyes flick black once and then back, and he slides a glance toward Sam, clocking whatever that look he’s sending him means, before a pleasant enticement of an expression Castiel sees often drags itself slowly onto his features. His hair is sweaty and his shirt is ripped and he looks tired, but he comes to Castiel far more easily than a demon should to an angel,  _always_ , no matter what.

“Missed me, huh?” he murmurs, soft and deadly, a lure in every sense from head to toe when he wants to be—befitting his species, but in a way so specific to Dean Castiel cannot fathom what he’d do if the eyes beckoning weren’t that familiar shade of green.

Castiel catches a glimpse of Sam’s rolling eyes over Dean’s shoulder and quickly turns back to smile at his lover as the door closes behind the younger Winchester, honestly happy to see him. Sam will be gone an hour at least; their routine is very sound by this point.

“I did.” Simply, quietly, he confirms Dean’s half-serious flirtation. Dean is thrown off a mite by this, though he recovers admirably fast.

“Enough to give me a ‘gee, Dean, glad you didn’t die yet’ passionate movie makeout?” Dean’s boldness is endearing, but he lies. (Again, Castiel smiles privately to himself, befitting his species, that he so despises.)

“Enough to offer far more than that.” His eyebrows rise, expectant, and Dean smirks, closing in on Castiel’s “personal space”. (He has never had the issue with it Dean has; from very early on in their acquaintance, he enjoyed the thrill of intimacy.)

“Well then,” he says against Castiel’s mouth, and tamping down his grace is quite worth the sensitivity to being physically loved by this demon. His mouth tingles as Dean’s moves over it, skillful with the small allowances he makes, from corner to corner in small, light kisses. Hands holding the lapels of his overcoat, Dean lips at his bottom lip until it’s almost _burning_ with feeling. Not once does his mouth open, and by the time he goes to slip down to Castiel’s neck with those dedicated lips, Castiel has had enough.

“I want more than this, Dean,” he says, low and firm, dropping his vessel’s hands to Dean’s hips and snagging him further into Castiel’s space, so there’s centimeters or less between them. Dean laughs, joy and taunting in the sound.

“Working on it, angel.” Dropping to Castiel’s jaw, he bites there, and Castiel has to force his grace down as his being unfurls with a sudden burst of feeling, but he stops Dean, regardless.

“No,” and Dean jerks up so fast he’d hurt mere men with how their faces collide, his eyes narrowed.

“No? You’re mixing your signals here, buddy,” Calmly amused though he might seem, his restraint fades with the shock and his eyes fully darken for a minute or longer before he controls himself again. Castiel is very grateful sometimes for this particular indicator.

Leaning in, reassuring, he drapes his hands over Dean’s shoulders, curls fingers over the back of his neck.

“No to your firmly closed lips, Dean Winchester,” he says, directly staring, watching Dean’s unblinking response, feeling Dean startle under his hands. Dean likely hadn’t realized he’d noticed—or even that he’d been doing this.

Castiel will not humor his ignorance. For good or for ill, he wants to taste Dean, once at least.

“Is this your way of telling me to scream your name more?” Dean asks, sharp, defending himself. Castiel smiles, fond of this walking horror with a hesitant heart.

He shakes his head, removes all space between them until their noses brush and Dean’s eyes are too close to meet.

“This is my way of saying I want your tongue in my mouth,” he says, clearly, making sure he is not misunderstood. Dean gasps a bit, and wonderfully, his breath does not repulse where it puffs onto Castiel’s lips.

“But, Cas, you don’t…I’m a—” Dean almost never says the word. When he can, he surely likes to forget.

“I know what you are, Dean, but it isn’t of import. _Who you are_ makes me want to kiss you, sharing breath, an intimate act I never had the taste for before.”

Dean trembles, barely noticeable except for Castiel feeling it through his fingers. He would read Dean’s mind, but he has promised not to, and honors that promise as much as he can. “Might be bad for you,” he warns, but Castiel remains undeterred. This _will_ happen.

Dean apparently grasps his determination and sighs, nodding. “Okay. Okay, yeah, sure. We can do that.”

Castiel rubs at the shortest hairs on Dean’s neck, soothing him—hopefully. “Please, Dean,” he asks, nearly silently, drawing away to give Dean room to instigate.

And instigate he does. Beginning with the tactic from before, he sets Castiel’s lips tingling again, and then pokes them with his tongue, too gentle, worsening the sensation until it’s nigh unbearable. By the time Castiel is prepared to part his lips, the combination of Dean’s ministrations and Castiel’s purposefully stifled grace has him panting, sharply, through his nose. His entire body is heated, moistening beneath his vessel’s choice of plain cotton underwear, hard and solid near Dean’s thigh.

And then Dean opens his mouth, and tugs Castiel’s lip between his two, pulls at it and slides, tender, along its soft line. Castiel’s mouth falls agape, and his being curls up, balled like a miniature sun inside his vessel with _delight._

Dean works a little faster, lips barely apart but moving over Castiel’s mouth, catching his lips and gripping tight, leaving them swelling (and he would not at all deign to heal them, not from this, not yet). Castiel’s hands start to shake as everything inside him reacts, and by the time Dean allows their mouths open both at once and their tongues touch for the first time, Castiel’s been lifted so high he could almost end from that first jolt of wet tip on wet tip.

He nearly does, relaxing almost into a slump, his wings lazily brushing the floor unseen, as Dean coaxes his tongue into a dance foreign to him, out of their mouths enough that he can’t quite taste yet but still drifting across, muscle on muscle, overcome in waves by the novel stimuli that Castiel’s being cries _out_ with feeling.

He makes a noise, unrestrained, in his throat, and it makes Dean’s eyes open, the green hazy, focused but not entirely grounded. Dean tugs away his tongue to smile, and miraculously, it only fades a little when he leans back in, this time working their tongues by degrees back into Castiel’s mouth. Charcoal and copper, minuscule particles of smoke like that off an altar, brush past his open lips into his mouth, and it doesn’t stop him for a moment, as he grips Dean closer, fingertips digging into his upper back, so close their legs are split around the other’s and Dean’s nudges him low: harmless, elongated torture. The taste is not entirely desirable, but when Castiel gives as much as he’s getting, pushing Dean’s lips wide and licking deeply, stroking Dean’s tongue, Dean starts to choke out noises with it until Castiel’s throat is full of them, and that wonder makes the taste a nonexistent priority.

“Mm, nngh,” Dean breathes over his lips, when they finally separate. Castiel’s eyelids lift as slowly as Dean’s did before, and Dean looks pleased by whatever they are communicating to him, seems to lose all his previous reluctance as he shoves back into Castiel’s mouth with aplomb until both of them are, again, panting.

Castiel lifts Dean at the hips, so that those strong bowlegs automatically circle his waist and the walk to the bed is perhaps three steps at most. He presses down as they lie on the bed’s softness, touches the blanket beneath and cleans it for Dean’s comfort, rolls his lower body again and again until Dean’s eyes are squeezed shut, nearly pained, and he’s groaning, “Fuck, _Cas._ ”

Indeed. That is where the evening is likely headed. The mechanics are as yet unsure, but fucking will occur, and so will more “making out”—Castiel thinks, enormously satisfied by this accomplishment as he mouths over Dean’s bottom lip, eagerly, pushing them both into another kiss that lasts through the gasping breaths at grinding hips.


End file.
